Ritual can be elaborate, but many is simply the rote tasks we perform on a daily basis and never give a second thought unless life or the weather interferes.

It’s early Sunday morning (really early as I forgot to fall back) and, as with all my days, my first tasks are cat-related: put kibble in one bowl, pour fresh water in the other, put the coffee on. But, it’s Sunday and Jazzmine somehow always knows when it’s Sunday and waits impatiently for her can of stinky, shrimpy, Fancy Feast for breakfast. Seven days a week she gets kibble, but Sunday she’ll save the kibble for later and devour her stinky treat.

Sunday breakfasts require an audience, so I sit at the table with my coffee and keep her company whiles she eats. I open my journal and begin writing my morning pages, much of which made their way into today’s Blog.

No hurry. No walkabout this morning – I’ll probably ride my stationary bike while I watch Today and later do yoga stretches while I watch Charlie Osgood and after I’ll make my way to my desk to transcribe my pages and begin my 2000 words for my NaNo novel..

Finished eating, Jazzmine dashed down the hall, and I know she’s gone out her window kitty door to the balcony. Her rituals are simple, eat then outside to scratch her post and preen, before retiring to whatever pool of sunshine she can find to snooze in.

Moments later, she is back inside, and staring at me as only a cat can. Jazzmine feels betrayed, and lets me know it – it’s 31 outside. The odd throaty ‘meorrow’ seems to ask accusingly, ‘what have you done to the weather’. She stares out the window and ventures out once or twice more before giving up and curling up on the electric leopard throw that kept us warm at my desk yesterday.

On the bright side, this is the south and it will be 65 tomorrow and back to a shirtsleeves 70 Tuesday and Wednesday. Jazz will be able to resume, at least briefly,her daily balcony ritual foray – Winter southern style – gotta love it.